kened
so much curiosity as to gather
three representative members of the
bird-world together.

It was a great puzzle, this Dewdrop
was. It was a puzzle where it came
from; what it had come about; and a
still greater puzzle, what it was made
of. It was evidently a visitor from
some unknown land. Very quietly,
too, it had travelled to its adopted
country. These birds, in succession
(with the curiosity birds generally have),
had endeavoured by stealth to track its
dainty fairy footsteps, and learn its
past history. But it was to no
purpose. However, there it was; not
perhaps making its appearance every
night, but almost every night. And,
then, it invariably managed to perch
itself so daintily on the tip of a rose-leaf.
All three birds agreed that it had
substantiated its claim in this, to be
decidedly a lover of the beautiful.
The leaf, moreover, which it made its
resting-place, was not only pretty in
itself, of a subdued delicate green, but
it hung right over a full-blown rose,
with a mass of pink leaves. The
Dewdrop quite seemed as if it had said
to its own little personality regarding
this round coral ball (or cup, if you
prefer to call it so)--"Well, I shall
have a good look at you at all events,
from my cozy couch, the last thing
at night, and the first thing in the
morning."

[Illustration]

I somehow really believe the rose
must have heard this complimentary
speech, or at all events, by some
instinctive way, have correctly surmised
what the Dewdrop was thinking about;
for, in the last fading, glimmering
light, it covered up its face so coyly
with both hands, and blushed a deeper
and deeper crimson.

* * * * *

But to return to the birds. It was
just outside a copsy retreat that these
three winged acquaintances met. The
Thrush, with his brown plumage and
yellow spotted neck, being the biggest,
and, if anything, the more talkative of
the three, began the conversation.

The consultation was a long and
animated one, too long indeed to
report in full, besides there being a
considerable amount of superfluous talk,
what in bird-language is called chattering;
but I can give the close of it.

"Well," said the Thrush, summing
up the discussion, "I must now be off
to bed--at all events after providing
something suitable in the way of
supper for my wife and family, and
seeing them made tolerably comfortable
for the night. And so too must you,"
he added, with a